Sitting cross-legged on the bed, the covers pulled over my knees and curiosity currently closer to killing me than magical flying bombs, I pried off the lid of the box Steven had given me.
The box seemed to contain papers mostly. I rifled through them. Papers and envelopes and a small cloth pouch. I dropped them all back in before starting at the top more slowly. The first documents I lifted were birth certificates. My mother’s, my father’s, mine. They named me Estrella Isadore. It had been so long since I’d heard my full name that I had almost forgotten my mother’s name was my middle one.
Here was their marriage certificate too. They had married in New York. I hadn’t known that and I wondered about them living in the city I had arrived in only a few hours ago. I traced my finger across the names that I recognised and then set them aside. It had never occurred to me that my parents were not both English. I just hadn’t known them long enough to know anything of significance. Most of what I knew about them was second hand.
Death certificates, but English this time and issued in England. “Unknown” was the unsatisfying cause of death verdict. Their bodies hadn’t been found but after five years they had been declared dead, said a one-page report stapled at the back of my father’s certificate. I put them on top of the other papers. There was a small photo album covered in a mid-blue fabric that felt like suede. I opened it. The first image was a man and woman together, holding hands and smiling. Jonathon and Isadore was written underneath on a white labelin a neat print.
My parents.
I so rarely heard their names that I had forgotten them as people with actual identities. With a twinge again, I thought of my mother’s name melded with my own. The next few images were of the same couple, sometimes one or the other, sometimes both of them, the occasional snap of them with a group of people I didn’t recognise, but some faces were repeated. Several times, another couple appeared. On the tenth page was my parent’s wedding picture. The couple I had noted before were pictured with them. My mother was in a lace wedding dress that pooled at her feet and my father was laughing. The other man looked directly at the camera with a broad smile; the woman on his arm was gazing at my parents. Her face didn’t carry any expression.
I put the picture on the pile I already looked through. The next few pages seemed to be a honeymoon on a coast somewhere rugged. Gradually, the pictures showed the woman pregnant, the man hugging her, smiling at her, not the camera, and then a baby who grew into a toddler as I turned the pages. I was looking at my parents and me. It was like nipping into some other family’s photo pages. I didn’t feel overwhelmed with emotion, just a little surge of joy looking at this happy besotted couple.
Abruptly, the photo album stopped, leaving a number of blank pages. There were some scraps of paper shoved into the back page and I tweezed them out with my forefinger and thumb. Cinema stubs, a tube ticket, concert tickets. Little snippets of their lives. I wondered which one of them liked David Bowie and who had wanted to see “St Elmo’s Fire” twice? I went through the album once more, then set it aside on top of the birth certificates.
Some other bits of paper that didn’t seem particularly important. A deed to a property, a house I thought, without knowing why and some bank and solicitor letters saying that there was no longer a mortgage and it was owned outright. I mentally filed the address away. I would ask someone later. Some bank books, partially used and a will from the same solicitors, signed by my parents. I scanned it. They had left everything to me, as any parent would. I recognised Steven’s name as executor. There was an envelope addressed to me in a neat hand that I set aside to read later.
A few more pieces of official looking paper then a little velvet pouch. I pried the string apart and tipped the contents into my hand. A brilliantly coloured bird of paradise brooch, made from enamel, I thought, and a few other pieces of costume jewellery. I turned them over in my hands. I recognised some of the pieces from the photo album. My mother had worn the brooch on her wedding day, a bright spray against her simple white dress and again in my first birthday picture. They weren’t costly pieces, but they were my mother’s and I had never had anything of hers before. I slipped them back into the pouch. There wasn’t much else so I carefully slotted everything back into the box and put the lid on top, kicking back the covers so that I could scramble out of bed and put the box on the dressing table.
After so much emotional deprivation, it was like my brain had gone into emotional overload and I wasn’t sure where I should file all this new information in my mind. Sleeping on it would probably be a very good idea. I switched off the lamp on the side table and crawled back into bed, pulling the coverlet up to my neck and curling up like a baby. After a moment, I got up again and retrieved the box and set it on the nightstand next to me, at the same level as my eye line, now my head was on the pillow.
It was when I was on the periphery of sleep, at that halfway house between wakefulness and slumber, that the feeling that had been niggling at me finally developed into a fully formed idea and forced me back into awake mode.
Why hadn’t anyone else realised?
The Brotherhood could never have attacked us tonight. Even my brain, rudimentary with the knowledge of magic, was turning cogs fast enough to realise that something was amiss. The air was too thick with the magic of attack as well as defence. Only something magical could have so stealthily crept up on this committee of powerful witches and attacked us so bluntly without warning. Us, I thought, hmmm.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” I whispered to the ceiling as I rolled onto my back. Why would the Brotherhood, who hates witches – us, me – use magic? They were old school. They were snatch, grab and burn, not spells and unearthly powers. They had proven that in the way they killed.
There had to be something or someone else. Someone else who wanted to maim and destroy this collective.
The gnawing feeling had changed. Now that I had my finger on the problem, I could only feel fear that I’d been seconds away from being killed tonight. Two attempts in as many days but perhaps not the same attackers. Did someone here want me dead too? And if so, who the hell was it if it wasn’t the Brotherhood? My brain swam with ideas. I didn’t feel any safer with the idea that I might have two foes.
I was wide awake now and I pulled my knees up so my arms were round them.
It should have been the excitement of Marc’s stolen kiss that kept me half awake until dawn, but it wasn’t, though that was a welcome distraction. Instead, there was the persistent niggle that something wasn’t right.
I was glad my brain was forcing me to stay awake and think because in the early hours of the morning someone turned my door handle, pushed my door open an inch and paused. No one spoke and I was too scared to ask as I scrambled for a pillow and hurled it at the door. After it shut with a thud, I threw back the covers and took the few paces to the door as fast as I could. I turned the lock and dashed back into bed quicker than someone could say, “There’s a monster under there.”
I didn’t dare doze again. Instead, I waited, hunched upright in bed with my arms clasped around my knees, shivering, until the first dawn broke.
FIVE
When I woke up in the morning, after a fitful couple of hours, someone had already pulled back the curtains to let the first streaks of sunlight sweep across my face. There was a tray on the dresser with cereal, a little jug of milk and a glass of orange juice. I looked for the blue box and saw that it was still on the nightstand exactly where I left it.
It disturbed me a little that whoever had come in, like the night before when I showered, had been quiet enough so as not to wake me and that I never even knew they were there. The bedroom door opening in the night flashed through my mind and I shuddered. Had that person come back too? I couldn’t be sure.
I reached for my wristwatch on the nightstand and checked the time. Someone had been close enough to me to adjust the hands and it read six thirty, a time I’d never been fond of, no matter where I was. Except today I
wasn’t struggling from sleep in order to trudge to work. I was in bed in a luxurious apartment thousands of miles from home and, as far as I knew, had nothing even remotely familiar on my day’s agenda. It wasn’t a particularly comforting thought.
It took all my energy to slide out from the warm covers and stumble into the bathroom to use the toilet, shower and brush my teeth. Ten minutes later, I was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and v-neck sweater in the palest lilac which was the best I could do for travelling clothes without knowing where I was travelling to or how. Was Étoile planning on zapping us somewhere?
I flittered around in the centre of the room for a moment or two, wondering if I was supposed to tell someone that I was awake. Then my eyes caught the breakfast tray again; my stomach gave a little grumble and I sat down to eat. I spooned a mouthful of cereal and brought it up to my lips just as a knock on the door interrupted my solitude. I called, “Come in.”
Étoile peeped her head around. Of course, she looked immaculate in a deep navy turtle-neck sweater, which only accentuated how pale she was and how high her cheekbones were. She smiled. “We have to go now. The sooner the better.”
“How are we going?” I asked, my spoon hovering in the air. I put it down before I spilled milk across my sweater.
Étoile frowned as if I’d just asked something really dumb. “By car, of course. Marc will drive.”
“Oh.” I swallowed the last of my orange juice. “Good. When will we get there?”
“A few hours or so,” answered Étoile. I could see that she had a small bag packed and it stood in the hallway, just beyond the door. “Can you be ready in five minutes?”
“Yes, of course.” Étoile ducked out but left the door ajar. I ate the rest of my cereal so fast that I could only hope I wouldn’t get indigestion. I faffed around for a few seconds trying to arrange the tray before throwing a napkin – starched white, of course – over the bowl.
I pulled my bag onto the bed and tossed the few things I’d taken out back in, then wrapped the blue box in a sweater, placing it on top before zipping up the bag. I tugged on my trainers and bent to tie them, then pulled on the grey jacket, remembering to pick up my smaller shoulder bag with my wallet full of useless coins and notes. I wondered if the day would come when I wouldn’t be able to pack all my stuff in minutes, when I wouldn’t be at the mercy of other people sending me here and there. I chided myself silently. If it weren’t for Étoile, I’d be dead now. If it weren’t for the council, I wouldn’t have a home or protection. I should be grateful for everything that they were doing for me, not whimpering about how hard my life was. As if it had ever been easy! And really, what was I missing anyway? Marc had been right. Not a lot.
I pulled my hair back in a tight ponytail with a band and checked it was smooth in the mirror, nodding at myself in approval. Sure, the ends were still slightly singed but I’d have to deal with that another time. “Man up, Stella,” I whispered at my reflection and the irony wasn’t lost on me; that was something I certainly could not do, however hard I tried.
Étoile was waiting outside my door. She had pulled the retractable handle out of her bag and was leaning on it.
“Is that all you’ve got?” I asked. Étoile was looking splendid again, of course, in expensive jeans that hugged her long legs and the clingy navy sweater. I wondered if she used some sort of magic to keep herself so neat. I wondered if I could learn that.
“I already have things there.” Étoile linked her arm to mine as though we had been friends forever and wheeled her case behind us with her free hand. Marc was waiting for us in the lobby but his parents weren’t anywhere to be seen. I looked around and surprise must have been etched on my face because Marc said, “Mom and Dad said to tell you goodbye and apologised that your stay was cut short. They’re attending to business at the moment and can’t be spared.”
I wanted to ask if it was the kind of business that involved asking if anyone other than the Brotherhood was a threat but instead, kept my mouth shut and nodded. “Are we leaving now?” My voice sounded plaintive and small in the big room.
“Yes,” replied Marc, as he swung a black rucksack over his shoulder. “There’s extra wards protecting the building and they cast a protection spell on the car. Spells don’t last long while things are moving, but it should be enough to get us out of the city without being observed.”
We followed him out the door to the private lift that served the penthouse. As we travelled down, I wondered how much I could ask about where we were going and what they would tell me. If they would tell me anything at all. It wasn’t my modus operandi to follow other people around blindly. I stifled a laugh in my throat and Étoile twitched an eyebrow at me. What could I say? I thought as I turned the slightly hysterical little laugh into a cough. It wasn’t in my M.O. to hop on planes, or, for that matter, even hang out with people. Nothing was normal anymore. Étoile let go of her bag long enough to place a cool hand over my wrist and her touch alone sent a wave of calm over me, driving the brief hysteria back along with the rising lump in my throat. Marc, lost in his own thoughts, didn’t seem to notice.
The doors slid open to the underground car park and we followed Marc to the huge black Cadillacs, but to my surprise, when Marc pressed his key fob, the lights of a silver Prius parked next to them flashed.
“Much less ostentatious,” Marc explained, opening the door and motioning that I should get in on the correct passenger side, which wasn’t the side I had stepped towards. He took my bag and tossed it in the trunk with his, then took Étoile’s as she climbed into the back and slid over so she was behind the driver’s seat. As I plugged my seat belt in, Marc took the driver’s seat beside me and turned the ignition.
“I know I’ve already asked,” I said, as the engine sprang to life, “but where exactly are we going? I know it’s a sort of safe house?”
“It’s a safe house that we use,” confirmed Marc, as he checked the rear view mirror and reversed. “It’s owned by a friend of the council and we use it as a, sort of, training ground. Our veterans help the novices learn how to control their powers, both wisely and effectively.”
“Is this friend a witch?”
Marc looked at Étoile in the rear view mirror. From the corner of my eye, I saw her give a little shake of her head. Marc looked over at me briefly and said, “Not exactly, but she’s not against us either. She’s neutral.”
“Have you been there before?” I asked wondering who “she” might be.
“Étoile was there for a while until she was sent to England a few days ago and I come and go.”
“It’s very nice and there are a few of us there,” said Étoile, leaning forward between the seats. “I’m sure you’ll like it. You’ll learn a lot. Plus you’ll meet my sister, Seren, and your friend, Kitty.”
Marc flinched at the name as he threw the car into drive.
I twisted in my seat to look at Étoile. “I don’t have a friend called Kitty.”
“You will,” said Étoile, with absolute confidence.
Marc drove across the car park, past a series of expensive vehicles, and manoeuvred the car up the exit ramp. He waved to the uniformed attendant standing in the guard box at the top of the ramp and waited for the barrier to rise before turning onto the street and accelerating. He drove carefully so as not to attract any attention towards us and soon we were on the bridge. I almost wished I had been here as a tourist so that I could spend some time marvelling at the bridge’s construction and the city retreating behind us. I wondered if I would ever come back.
Marc closed his hand over mine and gently squeezed it before regrasping the steering wheel. I was grateful for the human touch and a warmth spread through me as I remembered last night’s kiss. Marc winked at me and I dipped my eyes so I could suppress a smile.
“Do you... did you both train there? At this school?”
“No.” It was Étoile’s turn to speak. “Our parents instructed us, but lately, after... well, Seren and I needed to re-
learn some things and it’s convenient for us to be based at the house.”
“What can you do?” I asked. “I know you can move yourself the same way I can.”
“That,” agreed Étoile. “I can see the future too, just glimpses. Seren is an empath. She is very intuitive to the feelings of others, as well as animals. She shimmers too. Those are our main strengths but we have other skills too.”
“What about you, Marc?”
Marc’s hands gripped the wheel and he stared ahead for a moment before answering. “I don’t know yet.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Marc is a slow learner,” said Étoile with a snicker.
Marc drew in a breath. “For some of us, magic doesn’t come straight away. It’s in me; it’s inherited, but I don’t know what I can do with it.” He shook his head and continued as though he were used to explaining it. “It’s an anomaly but it happens.”
I wondered what his parents, the council leaders, thought about their son being an anomaly amongst all the power that their clan brandished. I suspected they weren’t thrilled – it would be like two maths professors having a kid with dyscalculia, I thought. But I suspected that it was harder for Marc not knowing what power he did possess nor how to access it when everyone around him was teeming with it. Even I could sneeze and... “shimmer” and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’ll work itself out.” Marc’s voice was stiff and decisive. As far as conversations went, we’d pretty much killed that one.
Étoile had her phone out again and was busily tapping keys while Marc concentrated on the road. I leant my head against the headrest and watched the world whiz past my window as I contemplated Étoile’s Blackberry addiction. It must be nice having so many people to constantly contact, I thought. Though it was early morning, after a while, I could feel my head loll. I twisted my head from side to side but the jetlag and the past night was finally catching up on me as the burr of the engine lulled me to sleep.
Illicit Magic Page 9